Hatcher.”
Riley’s skin prickled as she handled the picture.
“What became of Moran?” she asked.
Kelsey shook her head with disapproval.
“He’s still out there,” she said. “I often wish I hadn’t made that deal. For years and years now, he’s been quietly running all kinds of gang activities. The younger gangbangers look up to him and admire him. He’s smart and elusive. The local cops and the Bureau have never been able to bring him to justice.”
That prickling feeling grew. Riley found herself in Hatcher’s mind, brooding in prison for decades over Moran’s betrayal. In Hatcher’s moral universe, such a man didn’t deserve to live. And justice was long overdue.
“Do you have his current address?” Riley asked Kelsey.
“No, but I’m sure the field office does. Why?”
Riley took a deep breath.
“Because Shane is going there to kill him.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Riley knew that Smokey Moran was in great danger. But the truth was, Riley’s heart didn’t exactly go out to the vicious career thug.
Shane Hatcher was what really mattered.
Her assignment was to put Hatcher back in prison. If they caught him before he killed Moran for the old betrayal, fine. She and Bill would drive to Moran’s address without giving him any advance warning. They would call the local field office to have backup meet them there.
It was about a half hour drive from Kelsey Sprigge’s home in middle-class Searcy to the much more sinister gang neighborhoods of Syracuse. The sky was overcast, but no snow was falling, and traffic moved normally along the well-cleared roads.
As Bill drove, Riley accessed the FBI database and did some quick research on her cell phone. She saw that the local gang situation was dire. Gangs had grouped and regrouped in this area since the early 1980s. Back in the era of Shane the Chain, they had been mostly locals. Since then national gangs had moved in, bringing with them heightened levels of violence.
The drugs that fueled this violence with their profits had gotten weirder and much more dangerous. They now included cigarettes soaked in embalming fluid and paranoia-inducing crystals called “bath salts.” Who knew what even deadlier substances would turn up next?
As Bill parked in front of the rundown apartment building where Moran lived, Riley saw two men wearing FBI jackets get out of another car – Agents McGill and Newton, who had met them at the airport. She could tell from their bulkiness that they were wearing Kevlar vests under the jackets. Both were carrying Remington sniper rifles.
“Moran’s place is on the third floor,” Riley said.
When the group of agents moved in through the building’s front door, they encountered several gangbanger types standing around in the cold and shabby foyer. They just stood there with their hands shoved into their hoodie pockets and appeared to pay little attention to the armed squad.
Moran’s bodyguards?
She didn’t think they were likely to try to stop her little army of agents, although they might signal Moran that someone was on the way up.
McGill and Newton appeared to know the young guys. The agents patted them down quickly.
“We’re here to see Smokey Moran,” Riley said.
None of the young men said a word. They just stared at the agents with strange, empty expressions. It struck Riley as odd behavior.
“Out,” said Newton, and the guys nodded in compliance and filed out the front door.
With Riley in the lead, the agents stormed up three flights of stairs. The local agents led the way, checking each hallway carefully. On the third floor, they stopped outside Moran’s apartment.
Riley knocked sharply on the door. When no one answered, she called out.
“Smokey Moran, this is FBI Agent Riley Paige. My colleagues and I need to have a word with you. We don’t mean you any harm. We’re not here to arrest you.”
Again came no answer.
“We have reason to believe that your life is in danger,” Riley shouted.
Still no answer.
Riley turned the doorknob. To her surprise, it wasn’t locked, and the door swung open.
The agents stepped into a neatly kept, nondescript apartment with virtually no decor. There was also no TV, no electronic devices, certainly no sign of a computer. Riley realized that Moran managed to wield tremendous influence in the criminal underworld solely by giving face-to-face orders. By never going online or even using a phone, he stayed under law enforcement’s radar.
Definitely a shrewd customer, Riley thought. Sometimes the old-fashioned way works best.
But he was nowhere in sight. The two local agents quickly checked all the rooms and closets. Nobody was in the apartment.
They all made their way back down the stairs. When they reached the foyer, McGill and Newton lifted their rifles, ready for action. The young gangbangers awaited them at the base of the stairs.
Riley looked them over. She realized they’d obviously been under orders to let Riley and her colleagues search the empty apartment. Now it seemed that they had something to say.
“Smokey said he thought you’d come,” one of the gangbangers said.
“He told us to give you a message,” another said.
“He said to look for him over at the old Bushnell Warehouse on Dolliver Street,” a third said.
Then, without another word, the young men stepped aside, leaving the agents plenty of room to leave.
“Was he alone?” Riley asked.
“Was when he left here,” one of the young men replied.
A sort of solemn foreboding hung in the air. Riley didn’t know what to make of it.
McGill and Newton kept their eyes on the young guys as the agents exited. When they got outside, Newton said, “I know where that warehouse is.”
“I do too,” McGill said. “It’s just a few blocks from here. It’s abandoned and up for sale, and there’s been talk of turning it into classy apartments. But I don’t like the sound of this. That place is perfect for an ambush.”
He got on his phone and requested more backup to meet them there.
“We’ll have to be careful,” Riley said. “Lead the way.”
Bill drove, following the local SUV. Both cars parked in front of a decrepit four-story brick building with a crumbling facade and broken windows. As they did, another FBI vehicle pulled up.
Looking over the building, Riley could see what McGill had meant and why he had wanted more backup. The place was huge and decrepit with three floors of dark and broken windows. Any of those windows
